The First Pawn
by Daniel K. English
Summary: In another time, thirteen-year old Rias's first client as a High-class devil was a normal, young man lying in a pool of his own blood.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

In the face of death, there is no mercy. That is the law of the universe.

Death was impartial, indiscriminate and relentless. Animals die. People die. Plants die. The Earth, the Sun, the universe itself―one day death will claim it all.

Jon knew this consciously. He learned it the day his grandfather died quietly in a hospital bed with tubing threaded into his lungs through his nostrils. He remembered the moment his grandfather's dark eyes, dull from medication, glazed over, his wrinkled digits slackening in his grandmother's entwined fingers.

Still, a primal instinct to resist death called to him. Jon found the strength to roll onto his back. It was a grueling task, but a part of him _needed_ to see his wound no matter how hopeless it was. A dim voice in his mind, normally cold and logical, suggested the possibility that he would be alright. A hot, sharp pain originating from the bullet wound below his ribs burned its way to his brain. Blood soaked through his shirt and pooled on the floor. He raised his head, noticing his blood spurt from his wound as he did so. He laughed weakly.

"Fucking shit," was all he could say. "Fucking shit."

There was a gunman on campus. The first shots rang minutes ago.

That afternoon he had spent his lunchtime in the lab his anthropology professors used to study the relics they would order. He had been looking at a scroll―one that was supposedly two thousand years old―when loud pops went off inside the building. Before he could barricade the doors, one of them flew open, and a young man, frazzled and wild-looking with bloodshot eyes, shot him. Jon didn't die immediately. Instead, he fell behind the table at the center of the lab with a hole the size of a dime beside his abdomen.

And there he lay, fated to bleed to death.

Jon listened to his heart hammering in his ears. He blinked, breathing short breaths, and tears watered his eyes. They fell from the bullet lodged in his intestines, the sight of blood―his fucking _blood!_ ―pouring out of him like soda from a punctured can.

They fell because what coherent thought he still had _screamed_ at the unfairness of it all.

Why him? Why today? Why ever?

Struggling, he yanked his phone out of his pants pocket. It was more work than it should have been. Wrestling the phone out from the bunch of denim cost him precious minutes of his little time left. He focused on calling the police. Shaking fingers punched in nine-one-one. Then it occurred to him that calling the police would be pointless; by now someone in the campus would have already done it. At the same time, he held no illusion that an ambulance would arrive in the nick of time for him solely if it was _him_ who called. The world didn't work that way.

No―his last words wouldn't be for a stranger. He swallowed a mouthful of blood as it gurgled out from the bottom of his throat.

His thumb, slick with his blood, slipped over the screen.

With a gurgle of frustration, he wiped his hand over one of the slips of paper he had knocked onto the floor before trying again.

His fingers obeyed him, loyal to the very end, as they struggled to fulfill their final orders. Three words in capital letters went into the message.

Three words, Jon hoped, would be enough.

Limply, the arm holding the phone fell aside. Quiet sobs escaped him. He was going to die. Worse, he was going to _die alone._

He shut his eyes, unwilling to see his death. He distracted himself as memories of Sam―beautiful Sam, full of life and joy and _love_ ―danced in his mind's eye. Their first meeting. First talk. First date. First kiss. He felt faint as he wondered how she would take his passing. They shared only three years together―the best years of his life. And he hoped hers.

She'll move on, he thought. She's strong. That's why you love her, Jon. She'll find a way.

Through his eyelids, it looked like the room's lights were dimming. They weren't, obviously. That was just him slipping off the edge into the unknown abyss. But it grabbed his attention, made his heart skip a beat, and he cracked his eye open.

He saw Death. It looked like a young girl, about the age of thirteen.

Blood red hair. Ocean blue eyes. Pretty in an unnatural way. _Of course_ Death had to be pretty, he thought snidely. As if beauty matters in the end.

Death said something―he couldn't understand what, incapable of focusing on the words―but his instincts told him what he wanted to hear.

 _Should I ease the pain?_

Weakly, he nodded.

Death smiled. Jon's eyelids fell. Seeing for one last time the blood on the floor and the mess of papers strewn about from his fall, he managed one last grim smile.

I'd hate to be the poor bastard who has to clean this up.

* * *

Of all people Rias anticipated for her first client as a devil, a dying man wasn't one of them.

When the summoning circle first appeared, she had been nervous. Understandably so; taking contracts was her first step in becoming a true devil. A weight had settled upon her shoulders when she realized that failure would not only speak badly of her, Rias Gremory, but also of her family―her entire House. But gentle encouragement from of her parents, her older brother, her sister-in-law, and her best friends had given Rias the courage to step inside the glowing circle and believe in herself.

Strewn papers and a pool of blood replaced her family's warm smiles.

In front of her was a man in his twenties. Near his left hand was one of her fliers, crumpled and marked with blood. She forced her growing panic aside and put on what she hoped was a warm smile. She needed to take charge of the situation.

"Mister," she said softly. "Mister, are you alright?"

She relaxed when the man stirred. His reddened eyes met hers. He said nothing― and how could he? She saw his blood spreading over the floor like a twisted red shadow. He was going to die. She needed this contact to succeed, but her client was going to die. A dozen thoughts passed through her mind, and only one stood out immediately.

"W-would you like me to save you?" she asked.

For a while she thought he hadn't heard her. Or worse, that he had died before she could ask. But when he nodded, her worries vanished, replaced by an indescribable urge to please.

"Very well. I'll, umm, try with magic." Red light coalesced in her hands, bathing the dying man in its glow. He shut his eyes, and her fear of failure returned. Dead clients meant no deal. "P-please hang on, Mister!"

She poured more magic into her healing spell. The blood kept spreading.

Her panic surged with a vengeance. It wasn't working. While her inherent specialty was her family's Destruction magic, Rias had worked hard in other forms of magic as well. Her healing spell wasn't something to scoff at even if it wasn't as effective as Akeno's. Her client was too far gone for her to heal through standard magical aid.

Calling for assistance was out of the question, especially for her first contract. It would reflect badly on her ability and on her House. And yet without help, her client would die. She _needed_ this. Her thoughts went to her father, sad and disappointed; her brother, one of the four Satans, ashamed before the whole Underworld; Grayfia, stoic as ever, but with a slightly disappointed smile; and Akeno and Sona―her dearest friends―distant, unwilling to associate with a failure. She couldn't take it. She could not bear the thought of abandonment.

No―there was only one solution left. She dug into the pocket of her skirt and produced a single chess piece.

It was a Pawn, red and cast in a soft glow not unlike that of her magic.

Taking the man into her peerage was essentially a method of resurrection. Technically, she would be fulfilling the contract before the man would become a devil. That counted as a success.

The Pawn, responding to her will, floated off her palm and gravitated towards the man. It pressed against his chest and sank through his shirt, leaving not a mark behind it.

The blood stopped flowing.

Rias shut her eyes and _breathed._

"Contract success," she whispered with relief. Only then did she really consider the consequences of what she had done.

Like every other young High-class devil, Rias had her own fantasies about what she wanted her peerage to become. Strong, yes. Proud and majestic. But most importantly, one she could love like a second family. Akeno, dear Akeno, her best friend for years, had become her Queen not days ago. It was a small step, but the _right_ one. As Rias looked at the man she just saved, sitting in his own blood, she feared her dream to be quickly falling apart.

* * *

Waking up was a chore.

Jon felt as if a thousand trucks had run him over in his sleep. He groaned, shifting beneath light sheets until he suddenly shot upward to a sitting position.

Brown eyes darted frantically in their sockets. Panic washed over him in waves. He remembered what seemed to him like moments ago. The gun, the blood―and _Death._ Dying.

Where had everything gone? The last thing he remembered was bleeding out in the lab, and now he was _somewhere._ He sat on a comfortable queen-sized bed, with soft pillows and sheets. Gone were his T-shirt and, to his horror, pants, each replaced by a sleeveless undershirt and shorts respectively. He touched gingerly the place on his stomach where a bullet tore him a new breathing hole.

No pain. No bleeding. Odd.

Then he lifted his shirt. He was nearly speechless. "What the Hell?"

The door creaked open. He looked up. This time he really _was_ speechless when a maid―an actual _maid_ ―quietly slipped into the room. She noticed him to be awake and bowed politely.

"Are you feeling well, Mr. Smith?" the maid asked.

"I, umm—" Jon cleared his throat and covered himself with the sheet. "Yes, I am fine. And alive, to my surprise."

The maid nodded. "You will be informed of the details when the master and young lady arrive."

Her words triggered a memory, one of the girl―of _Death_. He swallowed and nodded. The maid, with a practiced smile, bowed and excused herself from the room after depositing a tray on the Victorian nightstand beside his bed. On the tray was a glass of warm milk and a plate of scones. Oatmeal and raisin scones covered in cream, he noted. They were a bit too sweet for his liking, but he was hungry enough to eat a ham whole.

It was when he bit into his third scone―this one filled with jam―did he hear loud voices echoing in the hall outside. Startled, he finished his snack quickly just as the door flew open.

"I see you are awake, son." A middle-aged man with shockingly familiar red hair and blue eyes entered first. His white blazer _screamed_ expensive, and the maid from before following close behind only supported the impression of the stranger being a wealthy man. The stranger studied him wordlessly with a gaze that was not quite cold, but not quite friendly. Jon imagined it was how a scientist would study a microbe through a microscope. The stranger asked in a gruff and authoritative tone, "Are you well?"

"Yes, Sir."

The man guffawed. "'Sir', he says! Not _quite._ I am Lord Vernus Gremory, head of the House of Gremory." Vernus gestured to the man behind him, one who bore similar features but seemed much, much younger. "This is my son, Sirzechs Lucifer. Behind _him_ is my daughter, and, from what I understand, your King."

 _King._ Something about that word made Jon wary.

He found the young girl from before partially hidden behind the man named Sirzech. She refused to meet his eyes.

"I am Jon Smith. Pleased to meet you all," Jon answered carefully.

Sirzechs unabashedly took one of the remaining scones.

"I suppose you have many questions regarding your situation," Sirzechs said while eating. "Normally it would be my sister's responsibility to alleviate your concerns, but, as she is too young and inexperienced, you may direct your questions to either me or my father."

Jon nodded. "What happened?"

"You were found severely injured," Vernus answered. "My daughter, in response to your summons and your wish, resurrected you. As a result, you are now bound to her as a servant."

"That is only the broad explanation," Sirzechs added upon seeing Jon's listless expression. "You will learn of the specifics later, but I assure you it is not as it sounds."

"What are you?" Jon asked next.

Vernus's stern facade turned into surprise for a moment. "You can tell?"

"Forgive me if this sounds _rude_ , but I have this unsettling feeling when I look at you. All of you. Like you're... _dangerous_ or something." Jon glanced at each individual in the room, including the maid, before he leveled a curious look at Sirzechs. "And more so when I look at _you._ "

Sirzechs's grin was toothy. "Your instincts are sharp. We are all devils."

Jon paled. "Devils?"

"Yes. And you are currently in the Underworld."

"Underworld? I-I _went to Hell?_ " Jon swallowed, eyes wide. "But... isn't upholding the _moral values_ more important than identifying with the reli―"

Sirzech held up his hands in a placating gesture. "You're misunderstanding something. Hell is much more different place than it used to be. The official name for it now is 'the Underworld'. Instead of a realm where sinners and non-believers fall into for eternal punishment, it is now a realm where devils cultivate their civilization." Jon blinked, flabbergasted. Sirzechs chuckled. "What? You think that for all the years the Human world had to evolve, that the Underworld wouldn't?"

Jon was quiet. "From a logical standpoint, I suppose not."

"'From a logical standpoint, you shouldn't exist.' That's what you're thinking, right?" Jon said nothing. "That's fine. You were a normal human not a day ago. Few humans unaffiliated with any of the powers would be aware of us. It is How Things Are."

"Rias," Vernus said softly. The girl, who had been watching quietly, stiffened. "Introduce yourself."

The girl visibly gathered herself and stepped out. Jon's assumption was correct: she was certainly young. He estimated her height to be chest-high at most. She grasped the hems of her dress and curtsied. Her eyes remained on the floor. "I am Rias Gremory of House Gremory," she spoke, her voice low. "Pleased to meet you."

"Come now, Rias," Vernus chided. "Jon seems like a nice man. No need to be shy."

Rias bit her lip and fidgeted under everyone's gaze.

"Nice to meet you, Rias," Jon said.

"How old did you say you were, Jon?" Vernus asked, his eyes never leaving his daughter.

"Twenty-three. In human years."

"Then you are older than my daughter and her Queen. Neither I nor my son will be able to care for Rias all the time―not for a lack of trying, mind you―so I ask, as a favor, to look after her."

Jon's eyes bulged. "I, uh, will try?"

"That's all I can ask for. Please, if you have anything you need, ask any one of us and we will provide."

"Thank you, Milord."

"Milord?" Vernus laughed. "Close enough."

"We must take our leave," Sirzechs said, quickly devouring another scone. "Both my father and I have business to attend to. Rias will stay and answer any further questions you may have."

Rias nodded silently.

"We will see you soon," Vernus said before stroking his daughter's hair. He said to her, "Everything will be alright. Believe."

Jon watched Vernus and Sirzechs depart, their maids shutting the door behind them. Rias stood rooted to her spot, looking at anywhere but at Jon. She was nervous, Jon noticed, though why he had no idea. He wasn't the best with children. Still, it didn't take a genius to understand that he now owed Rias a considerable debt; the reason he was alive at all was likely due to her efforts. While the idea of owing a devil made him nervous, Jon reflected on the courtesy he had been shown thus far. He decided to make the first move.

"Would you like a scone?" Jon asked. "Sweets don't sit well with me."

Rias flinched when Jon addressed her, but after a longing glance at the plate, she took one.

"I'm not exactly sure what happened," he continued, "but I know that I am alive thanks to you. So, whatever you did, I thank you."

Rias shook her head. Her shoulder-length hair swayed. "I... it was nothing. I... am sorry."

Jon smiled. "Don't be. You didn't shoot me."

"I had to resurrect you with an Evil Piece. You were bleeding too much." When Jon didn't react, Rias kept going. "I have made you a part of my peerage."

"I am not sure what that means."

From her dress pocket, Rias produced a chess piece. The knight glowed a soft red. Jon was mesmerized by it. "This is an Evil Piece," Rias explained. "All High-class devils have a set. Whoever is attached to an Evil Piece becomes part of the King's peerage. It can also revive the recently deceased."

"I see. Is there something I should know about being in a peerage?"

"Only devils can be in a peerage."

It took a moment for Jon to realize what Rias meant. "Oh. So now I'm a―"

"A devil."

Jon blinked. "Ah. Am I supposed to harvest souls or something?"

Rias looked shocked. "N-no!"

"Okay. Is there something about being a devil that I should know about?"

Shock turned into apprehension. "You are vulnerable to holy objects and are slightly weaker in the morning."

"Well. That's not _too_ bad. I might have to stay away from Sam's stuff."

"Who is... Sam?"

"My girlfriend. Which reminds me: do you know where my phone is?"

Rias looked curious. Her anxiety from before was beginning to fade. "Your phone?"

"Uh, a device about the size of my hand. Flat, with a transparent screen on one face."

"Ah! So that was a phone?" There was a gleam of excitement in Rias's words. "It looks different from the ones here. I asked Akeno to bring it with her when she comes."

"Great. I'll have to tell Sam that I'm alright."

Rias nodded, this time with a genuine smile. She pondered for a moment before asking a question. "Can you, um, tell me about the human world?"

"I'll try. Anything specific?"

She thought for a moment. "School."

Jon frowned, dredging up anything in his brain that would interest Rias. "Umm. Well, as far as I know, there are several school systems in use in the human world. In general, countries with stronger economies offer more in the way of education for their people. The specifics vary, but children in Westernized countries often go to school throughout their pubescent years and well into their adolescent years. What happens afterwards depends on the country they live in. For example, in the United States, students can further their education by attending college. On the other hand, in Germany, students either take specialized courses catered towards their career choice, head straight to work, or continue general education at a higher level. Umm..."

His explanation sounded drier than he wanted it to, but Rias seemed enraptured by what he said. "What about Japan? I'm very curious about Japan."

Jon raised a brow, but answered. "The Japanese school system is rather straightforward. The schooling duration is divided into periods. Kindergarten, elementary school, junior high school, and high school. College is optional, but often encouraged. From what I know, there is an emphasis on extracurricular act―"

A knock on the door interrupted him.

"That should be Akeno," Rias said. She rushed to the door. In came another girl the same age as Rias. But whereas Rias had hair as red as blood, Akeno had long black hair. Akeno also possessed distinct oriental features, enough that Jon would have guessed her to be Japanese. Rias and Akeno shared smiles―something that told Jon the girls were at least on friendly terms.

"I've brought his belongings, Rias," Akeno said, holding up an unfamiliar bag.

"Wonderful! Akeno, this is Jon. Jon, Akeno."

"It's nice to meet you, Jon." Akeno's smile was terribly sweet.

"Nice to meet you, too."

"Akeno is my Queen." Jon hitched a brow, wordlessly requesting an explanation. "The ranks within a peerage correlates with the Evil Piece inside the members. I am the King of my peerage―the leader. Akeno is Queen. You hold one of my Pawns." Rias looked apologetic. "N-not that it means you are worthless or anything. I'll take care of you as well as I take care of Akeno. It only means you have to start from scratch. Being a devil in modern times means you have opportunities to elevate your prestige. There are plenty of opportunities available now in the Underworld!"

"It's fine, I understand. It's not much different in the human world."

"If you ever need guidance, just let either one of us know," Akeno said politely, setting Jon's belongings beside the bed. "Being Rias's Queen, I have been taught much about devil society. It is also my duty to assist my fellow pieces."

"I appreciate it," Jon said with a smile. He dug into the bag and found his phone tucked inside a pocket. His inbox had four unread messages and dozens of missed calls.

 _[08:41:21 am] Love you too xoxo_

 _[08:54:10 am] Jon I heard something happened at your school call me_

 _[09:12:25 am] Where are you?_

 _[10:19:01 am] Jon this isn't funny_

He checked the timestamps on all the messages as well as the calls. Sam had kept trying to contact him. His heart broke. He found the curious looks of Rias and Akeno directed at him. "I'd love to chat some more, but I have to call my girlfriend. Is it alright if we discuss this devil stuff later?"

"Of course! We can send you back to the human world right away. Akeno?"

"Take this." Akeno handed him a leaflet with a printed on it. "Just wipe a bit of blood on it, and the circle will transport you back here."

"Handy." Jon eyed the page before folding it into a square and pocketing it.

"We will find a time to speak again," Rias said with surprising warmth. "Do take care, Jon."

"Yeah. Thanks. You too. And you as well, Akeno."

Akeno smiled again, and, with a slight bow, a familiar light flared in her hands. Magic, he realized instantly. A circle of light formed beneath his feet. Akeno said, "Good luck."

The magic carried him away. Weightlessness overtook him.

When it passed, Jon found himself in a quiet street in the middle of the night. Embarrassingly, he was still in an undershirt and shorts.

It took a moment, but Jon recognized where he was. It was a street several blocks away from campus. He saw the deli in which he would often buy a quick lunch from, the bodega run by a kind immigrant family from Puerto Rico, a printing center, a well-off pizzeria. They were closed this late into the night, but Jon saw their storefronts with astounding clarity.

The first thing Jon did was bring up Sam's number on his phone. He called her. He took a deep breath to settle his anxiety. The phone rang several times before she answered.

He swallowed. "Sam?"

"Jon?" a hesitant voice answered. Unspeakable relief overcame Jon.

"Hey." He breathed softly. "Hey. Have I got _a lot_ to talk to―" Suddenly, the line went dead. Jon blinked. He checked the screen of his phone and frowned.

Sam had hung up.

There was something wrong. His senses, _alien senses_ , screamed at him. He whirled and found Sam standing at the end of the block, breathing hard, the glow of a nearby streetlight revealing her tear-streaked face. She clutched her phone tightly in one hand. In her other, she held what was unmistakably a pistol.

"Sam?" Jon called warily. "Is that you? You brought... your gun?"

He took a step towards her and found, for the second time that day, a firearm pointed at him. He eyed the weapon cautiously before his gaze slid to the cross hanging on a thin chain around Sam's neck. She was a Christian; he knew that. It hadn't been an issue before when he was still human. It shouldn't be now, either, he thought. A startling fear struck his heart when he considered how foolish that thought was.

I am a devil. She is a Christian. Fundamentally, we are―

No. _No._ We're different. I am still myself.

But as Jon's eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw everything he needed to see on Sam's face: her horror, her disbelief, her anger. This would not be the reunion he hoped.

"Th-they got to you, didn't they?" she whispered. "I could smell that demonic shit in the lab."

"Sam? Sam, calm down. I'm okay. I'm al―"

"Shut up." Jon flinched at the venom in her words. "I know how you shits work. Your find a dead body and you put your taint in it. You're wearing his skin. You're wearing my boyfriend's _fucking skin_ you demonic _piece of shit._ "

White-hot searing pain exploded in his right arm, and he staggered. There was a smoking hole in his right shoulder. Sam had fired at him. Instinctively, he recognized that it wasn't a normal gun but some kind of anti-devil weapon. A weapon designed to kill him. He saw tears fall down Sam's cheeks, but her sorrow served only to fuel the rage boiling inside her.

"We were going to get married. Have a few kids, live to old age. Go to Heaven together. Even if he died, I would have found him in Heaven. He was a good man."

She fired again. This time Jon dived behind a parked car.

"But you!" she screamed. "You had to go _fucking_ _ruin_ that! You unholy fuck!"

" _I_ didn't _plan_ on _dying!_ " Jon screamed back as a sense of indignation overtook his shock.

Light flashed behind him, obscured by the car between him and Sam. He acted before he could think. He jammed a thumb into the wound in his shoulder, hissing from the pain, and smeared his blood over the leaflet Akeno had given him.

He heard an enraged scream as a glowing red circle carried him away once more.

The street disappeared. Asphalt and concrete were replaced by familiar polished floors and wallpaper. Jon fell onto his rear, finding a surprised Rias and Akeno in the same room he landed in. Then they both saw the hole in his shoulder, smoking profusely as if catching on fire. Akeno's hands lit up with shimmering crimson before tending to his wounds.

All Jon could do was wonder what the hell had just happened.

* * *

 _a/n: Had this in my drive, too. It's another setting to play around with. Hope you all like it._

 _P.S. Jon Smith isn't a self-insert, though we may share some thought processes. And he will neither replace Issei nor overshadow him._

 _P.S.S. I'm not taking suggestions as to which series encompass. Sorry, but this is my toy :P_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

As the Head Lady of the Gremory House, Venelana Gremory possessed a regal, aristocratic demeanor learned by hundreds of years of experience. In her blood was the Power of Destruction conferred by House Bael, another of the Seven-Two Pillars of the Underworld. It was her reputation of being stern but fair that earned her a reputation among her peers as one of the most reliable members of the Pillars.

At the same time, Venelana Gremory was a mother, and it was that side of her that was present when Rias told her what had happened.

Seated in cushioned chairs in a red and black lounge, Venelana sipped tea daintily from a porcelain cup. She looked remarkably like Rias, but older, more mature, with brown hair instead of red. Her eyes were soft as they observed the conflicted young man seated in the couch across from her. "In our world, three major factions exist: Heaven, The Fallen, and Hell," Venelana explained. "Long ago, they fought in a war, dubbed 'The Great War'. Though that time has long past, remnants of old ideologies still linger among the ranks of the Three. In many ways, the Great Wars is still being fought between the Three to this very day."

Jon sighed into his cup of hot chocolate. "And now Sam hates me."

"From what you've described, it sounded like she was more afraid. The belief that humans reborn as devils are... corrupted, or are 'replaced' by a falsified version is strictly fictional. It is a common argument used by Heaven's Churches to discredit devil-based resurrection."

Jon sighed again. "I didn't know she was a... an agent of the Church. She never told me."

"Most of the human world is kept ignorant of ours. It is only natural that you didn't know of your beloved's second life, just as you didn't know of us devils."

But in retrospect, there were signs that Sam lived a life beyond his. Not only in the way she had her private life, but also in the way she was as a person. In his memories, Jon saw her steadfast resolution, her conviction in everything she did. Her faith was always something she made clear to him about.

Then there was her father, that mammoth of a man with a sword in his closet.

And yet, recognizing these signs he once thought were simply odd quirks only left a growing bitterness in his mouth.

"You're right, ma'am. Unfortunately, it feels like that secrecy tarnished our relationship."

"It would only if you believe your relationship wasn't genuine."

"It was. At least, I thought it was."

Venelana was no doubt Rias's mother. When the corners of her lips curled into a pitiful smile, her resemblance to her daughter grew. "Like her, you are surely overwhelmed with what has happened. It has been a long day for you, I imagine. I suggest you get some rest. Stay here for tonight. You have time to consider your situation with your girlfriend."

"Thank you, ma'am. Still, I don't think things will get better with her."

Venelana hesitated. "Truthfully, I don't believe it will, either. Animosity between the Three lingers outside of our reach. Though diplomatic efforts have brought us peace, it is impossible to completely erase countless years of bloodshed in so little time. The hatred is almost ingrained in all of us, for at one point it helped us survive. Those who are born into our world find it difficult to overcome this belief."

Jon shut his eyes. "I understand. Thank you again, ma'am."

Venelana smiled warmly. "Please. Venelana is fine. 'Ma'am' makes me sound old."

"Lady Gremory, then."

"Hmm." Venelana spoke to her daughter. "Rias, dear, why don't you show Jon to a guest room? And remember to talk about the responsibilities of being a Devil when Jon is well again. Akeno, you too. Don't stay up late."

"Yes, mother."

"As you wish, Lady Gremory."

Venelana smiled warmly as Jon, Rias, and Akeno left the lounge. Wearing a set of red and black pajamas provided by the staff, Jon followed his King to the guest room.

"Your mother seems nice," Jon commented idly.

Rias smiled. "Mother is wonderful! I love her very much."

"You're a good kid."

She blushed a little at the praise.

Silence came, reminding each of them that they were strangers to one another. Rias shot a pleading look to Akeno, who put on a polite smile.

"The Gremory Household offers all types of support for their members," Akeno began. Her words disenchanted Jon of her age; what kind of girl in middle school could speak so fluidly? "Whether it be financial, legal, therapeutic, or any other support, we can arrange assistance for it. Of course, in return, we hope that you will offer your own cooperation to us should the need arise."

"Any chance someone can help me get my girlfriend back?"

Akeno faltered. "N-no..."

"Ah. Well. I'll keep the offer in mind."

Akeno sent a look back to her King that simply read, _I tried._

Rias cleared her throat. "How are you feeling about...?"

Jon was quiet. "I don't know," he eventually answered. "Frankly, I don't want to think about it. It's a... a real mess."

The air was heavy. Evidently, neither Rias nor Akeno had the experience in regards to romance.

Suddenly, Rias straightened, her eyes alit with an idea. "I know! How about we teach you how to use your magic?" _To get your mind off things._

Jon considered a moment. "That... sounds interesting. Sure."

"Wonderful!"

When they reached the guest room, Jon flopped onto the neat bed unceremoniously while both Rias and Akeno pulled up chairs to the bedside.

"Now, before we begin, we need you to understand how magic works. Akeno?"

"Magic is the power to literally change the world around us," Akeno began. She raised her hand. Jon's brows rose when thin streamers of lightning danced between Akeno's fingertips. "Whether it is something simple, like cleaning a window, to something more complex, like altering the laws of the universe, magic is capable of any feat." When the lightning dissipated, Jon's eyes found Akeno's again. "Of course, there is one rule you must remember when performing magic: there is always a price to pay."

Jon nodded, absorbing the information like a sponge.

"In most cases, you may pay using your own strength: your energy. When that is not feasible, you can offer other forms of payment."

Jon noticed Akeno hesitate on elaborating. He decided not to press the issue when Rias began speaking.

"The ability to perform magic is inherent in all beings. You simply need the energy and the knowledge to perform that magic." When Rias raised her hand, a fireball of dark fire, something that screamed ominous to his instincts, appeared hovering over her palm. "As a human, you were restricted from performing magic due to your limited energy capacity. As a reincarnated devil, you can access a greater supply of energy. Of course, as you grow older and collect more power, your energies will grow as well.

"Why don't we start with something simple?" The fireball of _wrongness_ disappeared without a trace. In its place, a floating ball of red light appeared.

"At its most basic forms, a spell can be understood by its purpose, its cost, and its form," Akeno said, raising her own ball of light. "Understand those, and you can perform a spell like this."

"Okay. Do I just, umm, _imagine_ and it happens?"

"You need to believe it will happen."

He blinked. "Okay. Believe." He showed his hand, palm facing the ceiling. He wanted a ball of light. He urged it to appear, willed it. Nothing. He spoke to himself out loud, hoping his two young mentors would correct his thought process should it need correcting. "Purpose, cost, and form. The purpose is to illuminate the room. It costs... little, I hope. And I want this to appear as a ball of light floating in my hand."

Nothing. He imagined a ball once more, of it forming by a flow of light.

Nothing. Again.

Nothing. Once more.

Nothing.

Jon sighed in defeat. "I don't seem to be having any luck. Pointers?"

Akeno spoke. "You are a newborn devil. Your supplies are greater than that of a human's, but not by much. It may be difficult for you to access that power until you are older."

"I see."

"Not all reincarnated devils can perform magic so soon after their change," Rias said.

"I have a few questions to ask." Jon frowned. "No. Actually, I have more than a few. A lot, really. But for now, what's the exchange rate between the energy you use to cast a spell and the output of the spell?"

Again, Rias and Akeno showed their inexperience when they blinked owlishly at him.

"Umm, maybe that's too... specialized. Is there any way for me to know how much energy I have?"

"There is," Akeno answered immediately. "There are certain meditations you may perform that allow you to understand yourself. That includes your energy capacity."

"Huh. Sounds useful. Any chance I can learn that?"

Eager to make something positive from this evening, Rias agreed. "It is simple: even an infant can do it. First, close your eyes and imagine that there is a pool of power within your body.

"Within the body of a devil is a partition of energy, called demonic energy, which acts as our life force and our source of power. This power makes us devils, just as angelic power makes angels, and spiritual energy makes humans."

Jon did as he was instructed. He sat on the bed, shut his eyes, and furrowed his brows in concentration. It wasn't working at first, but soon Rias's gentle voice guided him through his thoughts until he sensed a pool of heat within his gut that flowed through his limbs. He controlled his breathing, inhaling through his nose and exhaling through his mouth at the pace of his heart. A picture of himself burned its way into his mind, revealing a silhouette of himself with red flowing throughout his body like blood.

"Do you feel it?" Rias asked. Her voice was somehow distant.

"Yes," he said. "I feel it." As soon he spoke, that picture of himself, the understanding of his internal energies, vanished. He opened his eyes. "Correction: I felt it."

"Meditation requires a high-degree of concentration to maintain," Akeno said. She reached out with a towel she procured when he wasn't paying attention and dabbed his forehead of sweat. He nearly flinched from the sudden intimacy. "As a newborn devil, this is a difficult but helpful way for you understand your new self. You are no longer who you were. Neither is the world."

She offered him the towel, and he accepted it. "Thank you. I'll practice."

To his surprise, Rias rose from her seat and embraced him. He froze, unsure of what to do. "It won't be easy, Jon, but we will help. Simply ask."

"Sure."

Rias pulled away. "We must leave, or mother will be upset. Rest well, Jon."

"'night. You too, Akeno."

The dark-haired girl bowed a little. "You as well, Jon."

When the door shut and the light went off, Jon laid in bed feeling a little brighter than before. The exhaustion from the day still lingered in his body, making him drowsy, but he could sleep soundly if he did not think about Riley.

Then he did.

"Damn it," he sighed. He wasn't going to sleep, now.

He shut his eyes once more and focused on his breathing. The image returned to him again, faded, and returned. He practiced until he fell asleep.

* * *

When he returned to campus the day after, there was a lean, Hispanic man in his early twenties with copper skin and a stud in his left ear at the cafeteria table he often sat at. The man offered a curt nod as Jon approached, which he returned.

"You look like shit," Carlos said as Jon took a seat.

"Thanks."

Jon drank deeply from his cup until the coffee was gone. Rias had told him that devils were weaker in the morning. 'Weaker' had been an understatement. He had never been a morning person, but now he felt as if he were swimming in concrete. It didn't help that the atmosphere of the campus hung like a cloak of fear and oppression on his shoulders. The shooting was fresh on everyone's memories, and reflected in the lack of students on campus.

Carlos looked about as he bit into a bagel with cream cheese. "Where's the girl, man?"

Jon winced. "We're―" _bitter enemies,_ "―taking some time apart."

"Whadyu do?"

 _I died and got resurrected as a devil. My bad._ "Nothing." Carlos gave him an impatient look, the tilting of the brows, and Jon sighed before making something up. "The shooting."

Carlos glanced at a police car as it passed by slowly. "What 'bout it?"

"Well, she thought I was hurt when I didn't call her after she texted me a hundred times. Hell, I had no idea there was a shooter."

Carlos connected the dots. " _Idiota._ Should've told her you weren't there."

"I told her I was fine. She screamed something about me being different. Being a demon, unholy. All that jazz. I swear, _she_ was pissed enough to shoot me." _Then she shot me._ "We decided to take time apart. To cool off and stuff."

Carlos ate his bagel. Jon unwrapped his own sandwich and ate.

"Kinda overreacting," Carlos finally said. "What she mean, _demon_?"

Jon eyed the crucifix dangling around the Hispanic's neck. "You're the Christian here. If you don't know, I definitely won't."

His friend was quiet. "You need a drink?"

"It's morning."

"You look like you could use one. Or two."

 _I think I do._

"No. I've got some stuff I need to do now." Jon stood. "I've gotta ask you a favor. If Sam comes around asking for me, can you tell her you haven't seen me today? Or, y'know, distract her."

"That bad, huh? Aight, man. I gotchu."

"Thanks. I need to go." They traded grips. "I'll see ya later. Take care."

"See ya."

As Jon left, he kept an eye on the officers visibly patrolling the campus in addition to the campus security. Squad cars passed often, and yellow tape cut off whole streets. Jon's eyes flickered to white outlines on the sidewalk, where dried blood colored the concrete. Under the weight of the sun, Jon could barely muster any sympathy.

Idly, he reached for his phone in his pocket. His fingers hovered over Sam's number before he caught himself. Clenching his teeth, he shoved the phone back into his pocket.

 _I should've gotten that drink._

He headed to the anthropology building several blocks from the cafeteria. There was no yellow tape. Silently, he entered the building and went to the room where he was shot.

The door to the lab was ajar. Inside, there was no sign of his near-death.

It was as if nothing happened. A neat pile of papers sat atop one of the lab's tables. Stools were at their usual places beside the large tables. The floor was free of blood. No doubt Rias had cleaned up after him; she was surprisingly competent for a girl her age. Jon circled the lab, feeling strangely wistful. If Jon didn't know better, he would have thought it was just another day, with him waiting on his professors so he could finish his mandatory hours on the field.

But it wasn't just another day. He was only pretending it was.

Sighing, he left his bag on a chair and grabbed a pair of rubber gloves. He reached for the crate where the relics he had worked on with his professors were.

At the top of the pile of junk his most eccentric professor liked to collect was the same scroll he had been examining the day of the shooting. The scroll was like new despite having been dated as to two thousand-years old: the cover was a cylinder of polished wood dyed. Carved in it was engravings of a serpentine creature that wound itself around the entire cover, as well as a horned figure with large eyes and teeth. Jon pulled open the scroll again, considering a way to get a rubbing of the parchment when he froze.

The scroll that had been blank the last time he had seen it read:

 _To my descendants._

Jon swallowed. He unraveled the scroll a little more, his pulse racing from a growing anticipation of his discovery.

There was more. The scroll had words. _English_ words.

"Mother of God," Jon muttered. A sharp pain, like a migraine turned into a bullet, stabbed into his brain. He flinched, the world spun. His hand knocked the papers onto the floor.

As he opened his eyes, a moment of déjà vu overwhelmed him. He remembered a page, a flyer with a pentagram, and unfamiliar words. That paper was nowhere to be found. Jon stared at the blood on his hands that disappeared when blinked. He eyes darted about the room frantically before settling on the scroll he had dropped on the floor.

The scroll continued:

 _To my descendants._

 _The sons of my sons will do as they are taught and guide the words of my experience down our bloodline. Should these words reach you, it means our time is long past._

 _Saitou clan, Know that I am your ancestor, Saitou Hajime._

 _In my time, the demons of the land have been many. Some days, their miasma clouded the sky as if heralding a storm to fall upon our land. Rivers would run red these days without the hand of the Saitou clan and friends. The crops would wither, blacken, and burn in the hands of―_

"What the fuck am I reading?" Jon whispered. "Some damn Japanese history drama?"

Then he heard footsteps in the hall outside the lab. His heart stopped when he heard Carlos whispering.

"You sure, girl? It's not a cool thing to do, you know, killing him," he said.

A voice he knew answered more quietly, "He's _not_ Jon. Not anymore. I can't let it do what it wants. This has to be done. Now shut up."

― _Motherfucker._

He remembered the gun. He remembered the crucifix on Carlos's neck. How many people did he know wanted to kill him? How many were already 'in the know'?

Shoving the scroll into his bag, Jon shoved the crate of relics back on the shelf it belong to, threw his gloves into the disposal bin, grabbed his belongings, and headed for the door. When he sensed a presence nearing the lab, he stopped. If Carlos was in the know, then there was a chance he'd kill Jon as well. Sam was with him, after all. Biting his lip at the betrayal he felt, Jon went for the row of windows on the far wall.

Easing one of the larger windows open, he slipped out of the building and shut it quietly behind him.

Ducking out of sight, he stalked his way around a corner in case they decided to look out the window, and continued walking.

Whenever an officer passed him, a part of Jon jumped in fear of being apprehended. Knowing Carlos was helping Sam find him stirred fear and paranoia; the police could be in it as well. As he passed squad cars and officers, Jon kept an eye out for trouble.

And found it.

He felt someone's gaze on him as he passed the library on the way to the campus's exit. His phone vibrated in his pocket. He kept on walking as he checked it. It was a text from Carlos.

 _[09:04:11 am] where u at man_

"Fucking dipshit backstabber," Jon growled. He shut off his phone and walked faster, still feeling someone's gaze on him. "God―" a nail plunged into his brain once again, "― _damn it_!" Fueled by white-hot fury, Jon whirled, searching for the eyes that never left him. As if drawn to the source of the gaze, Jon's eyes found a young woman sitting cross-legged in the shade of a tree in one of the wider areas of the courtyard.

Her skin was a light brown, and her braids a dark black. She watched him warily from the distance. He took in her garb: a regular pair of jeans and a brown vest.

Jon didn't stay long. He memorized her look and left. His eyes met hers briefly, and hers narrowed slightly. _She looks normal. But so does Carlos and Sam. South American or Native American. Shit, if devils and devil hunters are real, then what about Native American shaman magic?_

He remembered Akeno's words: _You are no longer who you were. Neither is the world._

When the campus was four blocks away, Jon searched his wallet. He considered boarding a bus home, or hailing a taxi, but reconsidered. Sam was looking for him. Naturally, she would go for places he would normally go. His home was no longer safe. He wracked his thoughts for a place to lay low. The Gremory Estate.

When he fished the paper that would transport him there from his back pocket, he spotted that young woman from earlier standing in the corner of the street.

The feathers in her hair fluttered.

 _Definitely magic._

"Devil," she called. "I wish to speak with you."

Jon licked his lips nervously. "Go ahead."

She nodded, adjusting the schoolbag over her shoulder. "Tell your master that a stray wanders this neighborhood. The wind says it seeks your blood, for you lived. You must stay away from this location if you wish to keep your luck."

 _Of course, they've got to be vague, too._ "In English?"

She muttered something to herself. Exasperated, she answered, "The gunman from two days ago was possessed. He wants to kill you. Stay away."

"Oh. Thanks for the warning."

"You are welcome. Now leave. I cannot mask you forever."

Jon bit his inner cheek, wincing, before spitting the blood on the paper. A familiar red circle engulfed his world in light. The Native American girl watched him disappear.

* * *

"A stray, you say?" Rias muttered.

Jon nodded. "She said the gunman that shot me was possessed. That he wanted me dead. What is a stray? What is she talking about?"

"In this case," Akeno said, tapping the eraser of her pencil on her lip. "A stray is a devil that has defied its master, and, as a result, lost control of its nature. They tend to seek more power to secure its future. How they go about it depends."

"The most common way is for the stray to kill and eat other beings," Rias said.

"Well, the shooter didn't look quite cannibalistic when I saw him."

Rias scribbled something in her notebook. The coffee table on the carpet in her room was enormous, with enough space for her to put several large books, Akeno's books, and three lunch trays on it. The rest of her room was as grand, with a large four-poster bed covered in red, white, and pink. "What did this girl look like?"

"Native American, I think. She had a feature in her hair."

"Any tattoos?"

"On her left arm. I don't know what of." Rias flipped through one of the books on her table. After a while, she showed a page to him. "A shapeshifter?"

"It's an ancient practice among Native Americans," Akeno said offhandedly.

Jon skimmed the page, his brows rising and falling. "Okay. Umm. Wow, I have no idea what to say. I guess I should stay away from campus, then? I mean, Sam wants my head, this stray wants my head, and this chick that can turn into a two-ton bear might as well."

Rias smiled. "Native Americans lean towards a more subjective view of the world compared to those of the Holy faction. There are tribal differences, but many of them are neutral towards Devils. In fact, following colonization, many tribes established positive relations with the other supernatural communities of the world. So long as you are not a threat to them or the world, of course." She pondered. "If she is telling the truth, then it is better if you remain here, Jon. The shapeshifter can take care of the stray if another devil does not. A newborn devil like yourself is a tantalizing prey for a stray. Perhaps you can accompany us to Japan."

"Japan? What are you doing there?"

"I'm going to school there," she said, playing with a lock of her red hair. "It's fun. It's different from school here in the Underworld."

It took a moment for Jon to reconcile the idea of a devil taking classes in middle school. But then he remembered his own situation, and decided, _Screw it._ "I don't mind going," he said. "I don't know any Japanese, though."

Akeno giggled. "That's alright. I do. And as a Devil, you have an ability called 'Language.' It allows you to understand other languages as the language you know best."

"That's… hang on. Does that apply to reading as well?"

Rias answered. "No, not normally. In some occasions, a Devil may obtain an improved version of the ability that allows them to understand foreign texts. That ability is uncommon, as it requires one to be rather versed in certain kinds of academia."

He recalled the scroll in his bag. "Then I might take you up on that offer."

"Wonderful!" Rias rose from her seat and ran for the door. "I'll inform Grayfia. Perhaps we can arrange an accommodating role for you―"

The door shut behind her.

Akeno laughed softly. "She didn't want to do her homework, you see…"

"Hmm. I understand. I didn't like homework when I was her age, too." Jon flipped to the next page of the book Rias had shown him earlier. "Is this information… accurate?"

"Yes, it is."

"Hmm."

By the time Rias returned, she found Jon deep in one of her books. Akeno smiled slyly at her King. "Rias, I'm almost finished~"

Horrified and betrayed, Rias attacked her schoolwork.

* * *

 _a/n: I told someone on Spacebattles that it wouldn't take me till October to update this... and I was right :D_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

"Butler training?" Jon repeated slowly.

The maid, an especially stern-looking one with silvery hair tied into elaborate braids, nodded curtly. "The young lady expressed her interest in bringing you with her to Japan. I discussed the idea with Lord Gremory, and he insisted you serve the young lady. I would agree."

Jon nodded. "Okay. I don't mind helping out. Better than being a freeloader. Umm… I didn't get your name?"

"It is Grayfia, sir."

"Right. Grayfia. Ma'am. Not that I mind helping, but," he gestured to himself wearing a pair of jeans and a red t-shirt, "are you sure you can make me a butler?"

"I'm sure I can manage," she said. It was difficult for Jon to take her seriously when she wore a wide, frilly maid uniform. Without a word, other maids marched into the room he was staying at with military discipline. Jon blinked. Four maids lined up along the wall behind Grayfia, waiting for orders. "We will take your measurements to tailor you an appropriate uniform. In the meantime, my subordinates will train you in your duties. They will drill you until you can perform sufficiently as the young lady's personal butler. Any questions?"

Jon eyed the maids along the wall. One offered a polite smile. He wasn't even a little fooled.

This was going to be horrible.

"I'm guessing Rias put you up to this."

"She did. The young Lady was worried you would return to the States to try and convince your former significant other of your identity."

Jon blinked. "Why would I do that? Sam tried to kill me."

"That failed to stop you last time."

"I didn't think she'd _hunt me down_. Or that Carlos would rat me out."

The maid nodded. "Either way, Rias wishes that you will go through training so you may be at her side."

"I understand. I will do my best."

"Good." Grayfia bowed politely and, somehow, triumphantly. "I will return later."

She left rather gracefully. The remaining maids moved as one, producing tape measures. He stood awkwardly as they handled him, recording their findings on spreadsheets. Another maid, one not as severe-looking as Grayfia but still sharp, fixed her rounded glasses as she flipped through sheets on a clipboard. For some reason, her presence made a chill crawl down his spine.

"Mr. Smith," she said. "My name is Karia. As the one in charge of your training, I expect your utmost dedication and diligence in becoming a wonderful butler for the young Lady.

"The course takes six months to complete at the minimum, followed by at least three years of practical experience. However, due to your circumstances, we will cover this knowledge in the span of one week."

Jon paled. "Wait, four years in one week? That's impossible. Don't I―"

"Silence!" the maid interrupted. "Lady Rias's wish shall be our command. We will make you into a suitable, nay, the _perfect_ butler for the young Lady in this week. Do you understand?" Jon swallowed, then nodded. "Very well. Measurements, now! When that is done, you will learn how to handle yourself in the Lady's presence, how to handle yourself in the presence of your superiors, and how to handle yourself as a representative of the Lady's wishes. And I expect perfection. Do you understand?"

Jon nodded as the other maids swarmed him with their measuring tools.

No one would blame him for the unmanly scream that soon followed, for the maids assigned to the task were known to be rather handsy.

Afterwards, Karia led Jon on a tour through the Gremory estate to familiarize him with his working environment.

As the same time, she lectured Jon on his duties―to care for the young Lady's needs, to protect her, to maintain her dignity and noble upbringing. And, as a Pawn, to serve in her Peerage.

Jon's initial impressions of the Gremory estate proved correct: it was large. With almost a hundred personnel working on the staff, and nearly two hundred rooms, the estate was more like a very impressive hotel rather than a single family house. The front yard was more like a large park, or the front of City Hall. The array of fountains only made the similarity stick.

"And this wing is for important guests," Karia said as she led Jon to a wide corridor on the top-most floor of the mansion. The reincarnated devil glanced about in exasperation―the red carpet and linoleum walls were the same everywhere. "There are eight suites, each equipped with a full bathroom. Peerage quarters are also provided should they wish to stay in the same floor as their masters." Karia opened one of the doors, revealing another spacious room with a neat four-poster bed, rug, couches and tables. The suite alone was the size of his apartment. "Should they not have their own servants to care for them, one of our staff may be assigned to their care. As the exclusive butler for the young Lady, you will be spared from this."

"Spared? Are these guests... _that_ bad?"

"I cannot say," Karia answered neutrally. "Many are pleasant, such as Lord Phenex. Others can be... demanding, such as young Master Phenex."

"Ah."

"That concludes the tour. Do you have any questions?"

"No ma'am."

"You are unsettled," Karia said, observing Jon's shoulders. "Know that it is important for you to understand your setting completely. Speak your mind."

Jon, caught off guard, cleared his throat.

"I mean no disrespect when I say this, ma'am, but..." He licked his lips nervously. "You are kind of scary."

Karia raised an eyebrow. Her apparent stoicism was betrayed by her slight smirk. "'Kind of scary', Mr. Smith?" she repeated in a firm tone. "Is that something one should say to a lady?"

"I was taught that honesty is as important as flattery."

Karia nodded. "And why am I so frightening to you, Mr. Smith?"

He thought for a moment. The reason why he felt so anxious around her was not because of her appearance. Stern or not, Karia was dressed in a maid uniform. She was more charming than threatening. Her personality was reasonable as well. He realized his fear was instinctual. "I think it's the devil inside of me," he answered at last. "It's telling me you're a threat. That you could kill me, if you wanted to. I get that feeling from... Mrs. Grayfia even more so. I suppose even the maids of high-class devils should be suitably dangerous."

Karia studied him like he was an interesting science experiment before nodding in approval. "I admit; I did not expect much from you. But to have figured it out so quickly only means you are more than what your appearance suggests.

"As you say, the maids in Lord Gremory's employ are trained by Mrs. Grayfia herself to defend the Gremory family should the need arise. We are not powerful, but we are deadly."

 _Great―bodyguard-ninja-maid devils. I suppose I should get used to being surprised._

"As a reincarnated devil, you must be aware of this issue," Karia continued. "As a reincarnated devil working for the young Lady, you will often meet devils with powers that far exceed your comprehension. Their very presence will alarm you. And for the young Lady's sake, you must maintain yourself."

"To maintain an image."

Karia's smirk grew to a full smile. "Yes, the image. Devil society is far more peaceful than it once was. Posturing the main form of competition between high-class devil families, the other being Rating games. Although the young Lady is far too inexperienced to participate in the Rating games, she still represents the Gremory family in society's eyes. And, from now on, you as well."

"Great power, great responsibility. I understand. I will do my best not to disappoint."

"Good." Suddenly, the charge in the air dispersed. Jon relaxed. "Now, the day is still young. If you are ready, we will begin your training."

* * *

Mercedes felt a breeze against her skin, and, as she tucked her hair behind her ear, listened to it.

 _Empty. Blood. Evil._

The wind spirit her father loaned her passed on its discovery before returning to the currents. All those findings told her was that, once again, she had been too late to intercept the stray. Frustration bubbled in her stomach as she left the alley. A thousand misfortunes on that damned devil!

Cars drove down the street, headlights sweeping over her. She kept her head down as her shadow grew behind her.

Once she reached her bike that was parked at the curb, her phone rang. Grumbling, she drew it from her pocket. The name on the screen elicited more profanity.

"Hello, dear father," she answered.

Mercedes could hear the sounds of Washington on the other side. Her father's voice spoke over it. "My little girl," he began, as he always did, "I hope you are well."

"I am, dear father."

"I have heard word about an incident at the school you attend."

"There was an incident. I was not involved."

"Good." A pause. "Have you considered a time when you will return?"

"No, I have not."

"I have heard word about a creature you are hunting in the white man's world." Mercedes felt herself tense. "It has eluded you, thus far. It is not your duty to care for their problems. The Churches there will handle it."

"You have been watching me."

"Yes. You worry me."

"Father, I have told you: I want to see the world with my own eyes."

"And I agree. However, I do not agree with your incentive to risk your life for those whites."

"That is for myself to decide, dear father."

"It is." Another pause. Mercedes could sense the anxiety coming from him. Worry. Despite her desire for independence, Mercedes knew Charles Wind Talk was a good father. "Have you been eating well?"

"Yes, father," she answered. Not quite a lie: she was eating well. She managed the salary from her part-time job well enough to pay for rent, food, supplies, and other needs. Her father did not need to know about her romance with fast food. "I take it everyone else is healthy as well."

"They are. Your sister wishes to join you."

Mercedes pursed her lips. Neither her nor her father wanted that. "Please send her my regards."

"I will. Be careful, out there."

"I will."

"I will call again, soon."

Mercedes hung up. A flicker of homesickness lit in her chest, but she shook it off. Missing home was natural. Shutting oneself in it was not.

Pocketing her phone, she considered her next move as she pulled her bike into the street.

Finding the stray devil was a non-issue. The wind was her eyes and ears. The wind, unfortunately, could not help her catch the devil. Even on her bike, she was always too late . If she had assistance, or at least information on the devil's next target, she could set up an ambush and deal with the problem.

"I should have had him stay," she said aloud to herself.

That survivor. He would have been good bait. The stray had showed interest in finishing the job, after all. But she had made the short-term decision to send him off, and that was that.

―Or was it?

That survivor had been in her campus, had he not?

His name was unknown to her, but he was a devil. By that reasoning, his presence on campus would not have gone unnoticed. Contacting the appropriate people could shed light on his identity... and perhaps, give her a means to contact him. The plan seemed plausible in her mind. And maybe having a devil give her a hand would rouse the local exorcists to do something to avoid having their sworn enemy prove better.

"It is worth a shot."

* * *

A harsh ringing startled her awake.

Samantha rolled in her chair, her eyes feeling swollen and heavy. Blindly, she grabbed her phone before glancing at the screen. It wasn't the number she hoped for.

She considered ignoring the call―she didn't owe her attention to anyone right now―but the Native girl never called her before.

With a voice far hoarser than she expected, Sam answered. "Hello?"

"Exorcist Wilders."

"Sam's fine. You're Mercedes, right?"

Against the background noise―the honking of cars, the roar of a motorbike―Sam strained to hear a response. "I am. I have a request for you, if I may. The devil that recently visited campus. Do you know of it?"

Jon. A snake unwound from her belly. "What about him?"

"I did not mean to offend you," Mercedes answered. "I only wished to ask if you knew about the role it played in the recent shooting."

Jealousy was an ugly beast, especially now that there should have been nothing to be jealous of. Jon was dead, and a devil walked in his body. Wiping her eyes, Sam sighed. "No, I'm sorry about that. Things have been… upsetting for me. Yes, I know about the devil that visited campus. I tried to confront it not long ago, actually. Unfortunately, it gave me the slip. What's the problem?"

"You confronted the shooter?"

"The shooter? … No, I wasn't on campus that night."

"... I see. Let me clarify, then. A stray devil entered campus this past Tuesday with a gun. With that gun, he injured three students and killed one. Were you not aware?"

No, she had not been. Between her boyfriend's death and said boyfriend's body being worn by a devil, she had little time to consider recent events. But the revelation almost knocked her from her chair. Not from shock, but fury. A _stray devil_ had killed Jon.

 _Her_ Jon. "The shooter was a stray?"

"Yes, it was."

"Then… wait, you weren't talking about the devil that came by on Wednesday?"

"No, although I do wish to ask you about him. You see, I have an interest in killing that stray devil. Is that not your duty, as well?"

Sam didn't miss the subtle barb. "It is. I've been distracted, but it is."

"I have been tracking that stray since it entered the campus during the shooting. I have not been able to corner it, let alone kill it. I would like your help in doing so."

"That's good and all, but do you have any idea what it's doing now?"

"It is hunting for the ones it failed to kill."

Sam's thoughts drifted to Jon―or the devil wearing his body. "You want bait."

"If I recall correctly, you mentioned another devil you tried to confront on Wednesday. Am I to believe you are on bad terms with him?"

"It's a devil."

"I think the stray would be interested in finding him."

Sam bit her lip. A conflict arose within her. On the one hand, this could be a chance to kill a pair of devils in one fell swoop―a devil that killed her boyfriend, and the devil wearing her dead boyfriend's body. On the other hand, she had no idea how she would react around that thing in Jon's skin. That first night was almost impossible for her, and the second wasn't much of an improvement. Fear wormed its way into her heart.

"I… think you're right," Sam said. "I'll give you his number."

"Is there a reason you cannot contact him yourself."

"Yes. And it's none of your business." Sam told Mercedes the number, then bid goodbye after arranging meeting details.

Her phone slipped from her hands to her desk.

The mess of papers scattered across her work space showed articles and printouts of the shooting: interviews, news reports, testimonies. Then there were articles about the nature of devils, and ways to overcome their temptations. And as a last bastion of her resolution, a black book sat on the corner of the desk, always within reach.

For one could not spell devil without evil.

"Devils," she spat. "Fucking devils."


End file.
